Once Burned
by Alchemine
Summary: The Headmaster and his deputy meet just before dawn. ADMM, spoilers for HBP.


**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's Note**: This story is set during the summer between OotP and HBP.

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He had not bothered to relight the candles as they went out one by one. Perhaps it had been foolish - in fact, he knew it had been - but he had not wanted to be so near a flame. Not just yet.

Now the last struggling light shrank to a blue pinpoint and disappeared, sending up a thin streamer of smoke and a smell of hot wax. Dumbledore sat in the vast, empty darkness, nursing his aching left hand, and listened. The castle stirred around him, alive with the scrabbling feet of mice, the creak of clockwork, the breeze of the ghosts passing - and, very close by, the pad of four paws on the dais.

"It's late, Albus," said Minerva softly, next to his ear.

"At this point, I think one might rather say it is early," said Dumbledore.

"Either way, you should be in bed. Or are you looking forward to breakfast that much?" She pulled out the chair beside him and sat down in her own accustomed place.

"Not so very much," said Dumbledore. "I hear the kitchen is out of marmalade."

Minerva let out a grudging snort of laughter, then fell silent. If he listened hard, he could hear the familiar sound of her breathing. How many times, he wondered, had he lain awake in the dark and listened to that sound? How many nights were there in six years?

"I was never good at sums," he murmured to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing, Minerva."

"You always say that," said Minerva, and there was a harsh, bitter edge to her voice. "I wish you would tell me what is going on, Albus. I know you won't, but I wish you would. You _should_. It isn't fair. And I could help you."

"You do help me. You have always helped me."

"Not that way. Not by running the school and carrying messages and being a - an errand girl. I could have gone with you -"

"No," said Dumbledore. The enchanted ceiling above them was beginning to lighten; he could just make out the lines of her face, frustrated and angry and sorrowful all at once. His burnt hand throbbed. "It is something I must do on my own for as long as I can, until the boy is ready to do it for himself. Do you not trust me?"

"Of course."

"Then trust me to do this."

Minerva's narrow shoulders slumped forward in defeat. "I will. But if you need anything - anything at all -"

"You shall be the first person I ask," said Dumbledore.

"I should certainly hope so," said Minerva. Before he could stop her, she reached out and laid her right hand over his left. It was cool and comforting, but he jerked away from it at once, instinctively, and pulled his robe sleeve down.

"I'm sorry!" said Minerva, stricken. "You said it didn't hurt very much. You should have told me - I never would have - isn't there anything Poppy can do?"

He shook his head, not wanting to admit what he had already known before Madam Pomfrey had told him. It could not be cured, could not be eased; indeed, would only grow worse over time. He had made the nurse swear, with an Unbreakable Vow, that she would not tell Minerva the truth. He would not tell her either, but he could tell her part of it - the part that had been gnawing away at the back of his mind since the moment the fire of the broken enchantment had died away. It had been a frivolous thing to worry about, but it had troubled him all the same.

"It is not the pain," he said gently. "I had thought that perhaps you would not want to touch such ugliness. I had thought you might be frightened."

Minerva did not answer him. Deliberately, she reached out again and lifted his injured hand with infinite care, peeling the cloth of his sleeve away from it.

"I could never be frightened of you," she said, and bending her head, pressed a kiss to the charred and blackened husk.

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End file.
